CHAPTER 842: THE FIRST EXORCIST

The first time Adam had stepped into the dormitory lounge, he had entertained the sentiment that it was a comfortable place of relaxation.

Not anymore.

He could make out the shapes of taken sofas imprinted on the floor. Even the beige one he had come to call his own was gone, replaced by study desks left as cruel reminders that the lounge anticipated the next punishment.

The multicolored cushions arranged in comfy circles around the fireplace were gone. And so were the students lulled by the warm crackle of dancing flames, their lighthearted voices around fragrant cups of coffee and spicy snacks, and their relaxed smiles as the tension from lessons faded in the cushions’ embrace.

It felt barren; sad even to him. Even if everyone believed it was his fault.

Well, they could continue to believe whatever they wanted. His missing sofa held more emotional space in his mind than their irrational contempt.

In the silence that hung as cold as a winter day, he moved to the stairs. Two sets of footsteps cracked from above, delicate in their softness. Two girls, he picked up. A smile curved his lips when he met who they belonged to mid-climb.

"Let’s have supper together, big brother!" Quintella rushed to him, her bright smile chasing away the cold.

Beside her, Sarah nodded with her usual enthusiasm. If he had found it friendly at first, now he couldn’t help but frown. Whenever Desmond or Elliot showed up, she left with a snarl about not enjoying the company of notorious troublemakers like Desmond or dimwits like Elliot. However, there she was, smiling at him as if the other students’ shared indignation meant nothing.

"You should definitely come. We can celebrate the end of your punishment together. Oh, I know it was Desmond’s fault. I can’t believe you lost another two thousand points because of him, but that’s not entirely bad. At least you understand why we avoid him. Befriending him is being friends with trouble," she said, her dark eyes sparkling with genuine care. Her voice was the same, as if she were talking to her best friend.

He shook his head, his suspicions fading like snow beneath her warm smile.

"I’ve already had supper, but we can absolutely have breakfast tomorrow morning." He winked at Quintella. "Eat well. Training later."

"Yeah!" Quintella raised her fists. On her shoulder, Bao did the same with her tiny paws and an eager growl.

Adam ruffled her blonde hair as she passed him by, not forgetting to pat Bao’s back. Then, he went to his room.

Seated on his comfortable sofa, he picked up the grimoire from House Caelmorne. The moment he touched the warm navy blue leather, his eyes narrowed into focused slits. It was time to learn what had happened fifteen thousand years ago from the records of someone who had lived through the events.

He read through the first pages, learning about Orrivandrel, the city of crystal walls girted by Shamara, the river of shimmering waters, and Leoric Caelmorne, a humble man managing a derelict shop with his wife. He learned about their issues with magic, how everything they touched ended in a chaotic mess of volatile mana, and how they had used their peculiarities to fight off the werebeasts’ conquest when the black star with jagged edges, the banner of their stubborn spite against the invaders, threatened to be ripped apart along with the walls supporting it.

In every line, he felt Leoric’s love for the home he called his heart, for his wife, Cordelia De Caligo. Even after the city’s old council named him king, he still felt he didn’t deserve her gentleness and beauty.

But the years of happiness thinned when demons crossed into the magical world. He read about Orrivandrel’s ultimate battle, how farmers, shepherds, and woodcutters raised bows, forked pitches, and axes to join the army against Leoric’s plea to flee—to defend their home for a promise of reinforcement that never came.

He felt the betrayal as if Leoric spat it in person through the denser writing and recognised the dried tear stains when he wrote about Cordelia’s death on the battlefield.

In his grief, Leoric drew too much mana. He had planned to die, to bury the demons with his wife, with his home. Instead, something that made Adam’s eyes go wide happened.

"My enemies labelled me the wild magic tamer, the chaos terrorist, the shadow that hides behind the throne of lying tyrants. But I’m the blade of Orrivandrel, the demon bane. My liver melted away that day, but the world whispered. The end of you has not come yet, Leoric. Demons are swarming our lands, but beasts remain passive. Repel the invaders so no man suffers what you’ve lost. Today, I offer humans a chance. Become the justice that strikes through chaos to restore order."

I thought I heard voices, that the Netherworld Overseer took amusement in my misery, but my liver reformed. Not from flesh, but from pure mana. I rapidly realised that this new organ strengthened me beyond my potential. From a magus, I edged on the Supreme Sorcerer rank, as I culled more demons.

But this power came at a cost, a cruel flaw. Some say the liver is the seat of emotions. Mine became as chaotic as my magic. I’m inflexible, vengeful, unforgiving, but also unable to restrain my emotions.

A few years later, I found a tragic fool like me, the high priestess. She called us the world’s chosen ones—a joke I found pathetic. Nevertheless, that Mortis brat and I founded our order on an isolated island. The exorcists, we called it, for my life revolved around exterminating demons. And slowly, as we fought off the demonic invasion gangrening our realm, more joined us."

Adam leapt to his feet, the shocking revelation upturning everything he had believed. "Haldris didn’t create the exorcists! It was Leoric and House Mortis?!"

But more than the corrected historical facts, his pupils trembled at the names. Justice didn’t ring any bells since Leoric wanted to avenge his wife and home. His liver... Well, had Luna not gifted him a Manacore Heartgem years ago? If the core of the magic world had sentience like hers, gifting someone a mythical liver was believable.

But the high priestess? Flaws? Hell no!

His eyes darted to the next page, narrowing into reluctant slits. He almost pleaded that it was all a coincidence, that the lying bastard back home had never been right.

Yet, the next lines made him drop to the sofa, head dangling and eyes lost on the yellowed page.

"Even worlds apart, I hate you, Gaston..."

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AN: Don’t expect the entire backstory in one go. As I wrote earlier, the seven pieces will draw the complete picture.